


My Taste in Music is Your Face

by jbird181



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF, Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: Angst, Angst sandwich, Dancing, Everyone's Still Figuring Things Out and That's Okay, Fluff, Fourth of July, Gen, Glitter, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mention of Furries, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Summer Drinking Game: take a sip of water every time someone says they're sorry, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbird181/pseuds/jbird181
Summary: Seth invites Stefon and his sister Becca to a punk rock/animal mating call fusion concert. It’s a testament to how long Seth has known Stefon that upon seeing the band his first thought isn’twhat the fuck have I gotten myself intobutthat’s interesting, but not exactly what I’m looking for, do you have any other suggestions?





	My Taste in Music is Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> Becca is the Girl You Wish You Hadn't Started a Conversation With at a Party, who is, according to [Bobby Moynihan's theory](https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/entertainthis/2014/11/20/bobby-moynihans-snl-weekend-update-theory-drunk-uncle/77479176/), is Stefon's sister. My depiction of Becca and Stefon's relationship was greatly influenced by wanderlustnostalgia's [_tangential_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383170), which you should check out because it's amazing. This was meant to be a short, fluffy diversion for myself, but it just kept growing. I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> The title is from [Tear in My Heart by twenty one pilots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nky4me4NP70).

 

A free Fourth of July concert with the headliner Tastes Like Chicken, a punk rock/farm animal mating call fusion band didn’t exactly sound like Seth’s scene, but it turns out eating a hotdog alone in your apartment while watching reruns of M.A.S.H. makes a guy a little desperate. Either that, or Seth had somehow contracted heatstroke, because those were the only two logical explanations as to why he is currently sitting on the floor of his apartment on the phone with Stefon, inviting him to see a band whose most popular song is “Click Clack Moo, I Loved You.”  

“So yeah, I know it’s a little last minute, but I thought it sounded like something you’d like.” Seth and Stefon have actually hung out a couple times outside of the show, but it feels different somehow, being the one to initiate them hanging out.

Stefon hums thoughtfully, and Seth can’t stop imagining that Stefon is twisting a cord around his finger, even though he knows full well Stefon has a cell phone. “Is it cool if my sister comes too? She’s visiting me, and as much as I want to spend some time alone with you…”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Why don’t I come to yours, and then we can all walk over to Central Park together.”

“Sure,” murmurs Stefon. “What time?”

“Well, the concert starts at 8:00, so 7:45ish?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Stefon agrees breathily. “I have to go, Dwayne “The Rock-Hard” Johnson asked me to walk his dogs.”

“Stefon, who is Dwayne ‘Rock-Hard’ Johnson?” Seth immediately regrets asking.

“He’s a dancer at Slice. You remember Slice?”

“Yeah, I remember. That’s a lot more tame that I—”

“And he’s turned on by rocks.”

Seth hopes he didn’t hear that correctly, but knowing Stefon, he probably did, so he shakes it off and says goodbye.

Stefon has a tendency to throw Seth off-kilter, but Seth is still unprepared to see Stefon open his apartment door in that god-awful green shirt he wears every time he’s on Weekend Update.

“For a gay guy, you have awful fashion taste,” laughs Seth.

A young woman Seth assumes must be Stefon’s sister looks horrified. “Oh my god. Seth you _didn’t_. That’s such a stereotype! Just because Stefon is gay doesn’t mean—”

“Thanks, Becca, but it’s okay,” says Stefon. Becca gives him an incredulous look. “Like you’re right, but it’s okay.” Stefon smirks. “Cause for a ‘straight’ guy, Seth cares a lot about what I’m wearing.”

“No I don’t.”

“Your mouth says no, but your eyes say _yesyesyes_.”

“I, _Stefon_ , uh.” Seth gives up, ears red. “Aren’t you going to be hot in long sleeves?”

“I’m wearing shorts. Besides, I’m always hot, Seth Meyers.” Once again, Seth is at a loss for words in the face of the hurricane that is Stefon. The shorts certainly don’t help, jean cut-offs that live up to the adjective that is their name and then some. The sheer amount of exposed thigh draws Seth’s attention the same way a disco ball draws Stefon to the dance floor.

“Look, I know you guys have this whole ‘unresolved sexual tension’ thing going on, but if we want to get good seats, we need to leave like five minutes ago,” says Becca, rolling her eyes. “Here, you can come in for a second, we need to grab sunscreen and stuff.”

Seth latches on to the distraction with the enthusiasm of a drowning man grasping a life preserver. “Okay, I actually brought some water,” Seth adds, lifting the cooler he’s holding.

“Cool.”

Stefon folds a checkered blanket and drapes it over his arm while Becca grabs a bottle of sunscreen and three ice pops from the freezer. “Ready?” Stefon asks.

“Yeah. Here, I can take those,” Seth offers, reaching for the popsicles.

“Oh, I see, just cause I’m a woman you think I’m weak, Seth? You think I need a big strong man to carry my popsicles?!” Becca lectures.

“No, no, no, _no_ , Becca, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t my intention!” Seth assures her, hands up.

Becca considers for a second, jaw set. “Apology accepted.” Seth breathes out, relaxes his shoulders. She wordlessly opens the door, gesturing for Seth and Stefon to exit.

Stefon reacts first and crosses in front of Seth, brushing a warm hand across Seth’s shoulder. “Hey,” he breathes.

“Hey, Stefon,” says Seth, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face and, honestly? Why would he want to? “How’s your day been?”

“It’s been good,” says Stefon airily, messing with his bangs. “How has _your_ day been, Seth Meyers?”

Seth thinks about his lonely apartment, empty except for Hawkeye and Radar. “Boring until I got here.”

“The day I’m boring is the day I lay down in my coffin.” Stefon crosses his arms over his chest like a mummy and sticks out his tongue. Seth laughs and even Becca snorts as she locks the door.

“So, Becca,” wonders Seth. “What brings you to New York?”

“Well I’m doing this internship at an environmental law firm; my professor told me I should try to channel my outrage into something productive.”

“How do you like it? Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Who are you, my dad?” Stefon snorts humorlessly. “Maybe,” she continues. “They do good work, and like we only have one earth, and we’re ruining it with this rampant consumerism and willful ignorance.” It sounds less like she’s repeating words and more like a waterfall tumbling out of her. But then Becca shrugs self-consciously, shoulders sloping forward. “So like, maybe.”

“That’s awesome.” Seth tries to smile encouragingly at her, but she rolls her eyes. C’est la vie.

“You know,” Stefon says thoughtfully, “I should introduce you to Professor Valdez while you’re here. She teaches the ‘Activism in the Digital Age’ class I told you about. Columbia’s only like fifteen minutes from my apartment.

“Okay, cool.”

“Wait, hold up. Stefon, you went to Columbia?”

“Yeah. No need to sound so incredulous, Seth.”

“I’m sorry.” Seth would worry he’s put his foot in his mouth once again, but Stefon’s mouth curves into a pleased line. When Stefon uses words like incredulous instead of _spicy!_ , it’s a lot easier to believe. “What’d you study?”

“Early childhood education, with a double-minor in psychology and music.” The mental image of Stefon in a dress shirt and khakis (and _a tie_ ) leading a cluster of children in a song is simultaneously _wrong_ and completely right.

“I’m undecided,” Becca states in a voice that dares them to contradict her.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Stefon gently qualifies.

“I know,” snaps Becca.

Music, if you can call it that, is beginning to filter through the air, some bizarre mixture of familiar drums and guitar and what sounds like a rooster crowing. Once they cross the street into Central Park, the band is visible, and, well, they look like exactly what you would expect from a punk/rock animal mating call fusion band: long bangs, eyeliner, and animal costumes.

You know, the norm.

It’s a testament to how long Seth has known Stefon that his first thought isn’t _what the fuck have I gotten myself into_ but _that’s interesting, but not exactly what I’m looking for, do you have any other suggestions?_

“Seth Meyers, you didn’t tell me they were furries.” Stefon grins delightedly.

“They aren’t. I hope.”

“That’s insensitive,” Becca chimes in.

“Mm hm, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Stefon says, smirking.

“Maybe it’s just a fashion choice.”

Stefon hums dubiously and leads them through the spread of blankets and lawn chairs like a bee telling the rest of its hive where the flowers are before finally settling on a patch of grass near a tree. He shakes out the blanket and Seth places his cooler down to secure one of the corners before reclining next to Stefon.

“They’re actually not half bad.” Seth could do without the spontaneous neighing, but the driving bass beats in time with his heart. “It reminds me of some of the stuff I listened to in high school.”

Stefon’s head is tipped back, his eyes closed. “Half bad? Seth, they’re amazing.” There’s a swatch of wayward glitter on Stefon’s collarbone and Seth finds himself swaying forward with the irrational urge to taste it.

Becca stands up, and Seth remembers himself. “I gotta use the bathroom,” she says.

“Why didn’t you go before we left?” Stefon murmurs, face still tipped towards the stage.

“I did, asshole. Stop acting like my dad.” Seth doesn’t know where to look so he stares down at the grass.

“Our dad,” Stefon mutters, opening his eyes.

Becca observes him, then, dangerously quiet, asks, “Are you high?”

“...a little.”

“Stefon! You promised—”

“Fine fine _fine_ , relax, Becca. It’s just weed.”

“I am not doing this with you right now.” Becca storms off before Seth’s decided whether he should try to defuse the situation.

“What was that about?”

Stefon sighs. For a long moment, Seth thinks he’s not going to answer.

“It’s complicated. I don’t think… Stefon doesn’t think she’ll ever really forgive him for leaving her behind and going to New York.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _‘oh’_.” Stefon rubs his face. “Sorry. Stefon’s not mad at you. Not mad at Becca either.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I came to New York. All the best clubs are here. _And_ , I got to meet you.” Stefon puts his hand on Seth’s shoulder and he’s suddenly very aware of how close they are. The sudden shift in persona leaves Seth’s head spinning. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Let’s dance. Or ‘may I have this dance?’ if you prefer. I don’t want to think anymore.”

Seth feels a little guilty letting Stefon pull him up instead of pressing the issue, but Stefon’s an adult, and he’s not the only one who’d rather ignore his problems.

Stefon is objectively a horrible dancer. He’s jumping almost in time with the music, but his arms are flailing like he’s playing the drums above his head. It would be comical if Stefon didn’t dance with the confidence of Chita Rivera.

The only word for him is beautiful.

They dance until the song ends with a chord that vibrates Seth’s chest. He feels alive in the way he only really does onstage, adrenaline coursing through him. He laughs and Stefon joins in, shoulders shaking. They almost don’t hear it when the lead singer of Tastes Like Chicken, who’s wearing a pig onesie with cut-off sleeves, calls out, “Is everyone having a good time tonight?” They whoop in confirmation. “Let’s slow it down, this ballad is for all you couples out there, and it’s called ‘You Are the Moosic in Me.’”

The keyboardist starts to play a hopeful melody, and Seth considers sitting back down, but Stefon asks, “Do you know how to waltz?”

“No. I never learned.”

“I’ll teach you!” Stefon covers his face demurely. “If you want.”

“Okay, sure.” Seth reflexively puts his hands on Stefon’s waist, so Stefon takes one of them, holding it out to the side before putting his other on Seth’s shoulder.

“Step your right foot backward, left foot to the side, then step your right foot in, it’s like a catch step. We’re going to mirror each other.” Stefon demonstrates and Seth tries to follow. He accidentally steps forward into Stefon and almost falls over. “Step  _backward_ , Seth Meyers,” Stefon laughs. “One, two, three, one, two, three…”

They’re dancing now, albeit shakily. “Where did you learn to waltz?”

“I was in the wedding party for Biyoncé and Gay-Z’s wedding. You should have been there, Seth, it had everything: complimentary mints, a photo booth, ten muppets in a trench coat, geese in the role of doves, and DJ Baby Bok Choy put his ravioli hands to good use on those records.”

Somehow, the fact that they used actual records is the weirdest thing about that wedding.

“I’m sorry I missed it. Really.” Seth steps on Stefon’s toes for the second time.

Stefon places his hand on Seth’s cheek and whispers, “You’re trying to lead. I can hear you thinking. Relax.”

Stefon squeezes his hand, and Seth tries to relax into the repetitive movements. He looks into Stefon’s eyes, and, well, he stops thinking. He lets Stefon spin him around, and realizes, _oh, this is what it’s supposed to be like._ Dancing with Stefon feels like taking a turn too fast: your body is thrown exhilaratingly to the side as you hang on, your strength nothing against the power of inertia, until the car straightens out again.

Becca clears her throat, startling Seth who lets go of Stefon. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Seth wants to keep dancing with Stefon, but he’s back in his own head, hyper-aware of all the people around them, of how _romantic_ they must look.

“I’m sorry, Becca,” offers Stefon. “I’m trying.”

“You need to try harder,” Becca snaps, but then softens at the kicked-puppy look on Stefon’s face. “But I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Awwwww,” Stefon exclaims, gesturing for the surrounding people to join in.

By then, the song is over and the lead singer is signing off. “Thank you, New York, you’ve been amazing! Make sure to stick around for the fireworks show coming up soon. Happy Fourth of July!” The audience cheers.

“Are you staying to watch the fireworks?” Seth asks.

“Of course.” Stefon plops down on their blanket and unwraps his popsicle. Seth and Becca follow, sitting on either side of him. It’s cramped with three people, which is the perfect excuse not to scootch away when Seth’s shoulder brushes Stefon’s. Stefon’s shoulder is warm compared to the cooling summer night air, and it’s easy, too easy to lean into him, to create more points of connection while simultaneously staring resolutely at the sky.

While ignoring the acute gravitational pull between their hands.

“Are you shivering?”

“...a little,” Seth concedes.

“You’ll be hot, Stefon, don’t wear long sleeves, Stefon, it’s summer, Stefon,” Stefon mocks in a terrifyingly-accurate reproduction of Seth’s voice.

“Hey, I—”

“I bet you just wanted to see more skin,” Stefon teases and Seth chokes on the possible responses in his throat, none of which make sense. Stefon has always flirted with Seth, and Seth never used to be so flustered by his comments, but it’s different now that he and his girlfriend have broken up. He doesn’t have that excuse to hide behind anymore. Now there’s the tangible possibility of the two of them getting together hanging in the air every time they see each other. Seth thinks he could kiss him, if he wants to (does he want to?), but he’s choking in the possibilities.

“Ugh, you’re both useless,” groans Becca, but Seth is pretty sure it’s a loving groan. She shrugs off her sweatshirt and throws it at Seth. “I’m going to try to get a better view. Text me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Okay.” They both watch her pad away, the silence heavy.

“So, is your girlfriend out of town? You haven’t mentioned her once,” Stefon starts, with a practiced causalness.

“What?”

“I mean, you always ask me to suggest things that you could do with your _serious_ girlfriend, so why are hanging out with me and my kid sister and not her?”

“I don’t have to spend all my time with her, Stefon,” Seth chides. “But yeah, we broke up.”

Stefon’s hands fly up to cover his face, his eyes comically wide. He removes his hands only long enough to ask, “When?”

Seth has spent too many days thinking about her and what happened and why. Mostly he just wants to move on with his life. “About two weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Seth tries to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Well, we’ve been drifting apart for a while…” He sighs. “Could you at least try to act sad for me?”

“I could.” Stefon touches Seth’s shoulder. “I’m sad that you’re sad, Seth.”

“I’m not sad. I’m just… it was mutual. I don’t know. I’m just confused.” Stefon nods. “So I’m not ready to, like, jump into a new relationship. Yet.”

Stefon smiles fondly at Seth and holds out his hand, palm up. “Okay. Stefon can wait.”

Seth laces his fingers through Stefon’s and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

The first firework bursts and sizzles into shooting stars overhead, and Seth wants to stay right here forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are amazing, and feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](https://jbird181.tumblr.com).


End file.
